The Age Of Odin

Those wolves, however… Neither of us was in any doubt now that it was us they were after. The howls encircled us on all sides, a shifting perimeter that tacked and jinked with us whichever way we went. I could hear yips and yelps in the mix, unmistakable expressions of glee. They were having a high old time, our unseen pursuers. They'd got us surrounded. They knew we were frightened and exhausted and one of us was in rough shape. They outnumbered us. They had every advantage, and they were loving it.

'I swear,' Abortion wheezed, fighting for breath as he forged on, 'I swear to God… if I get out of this… I'll give up the weed and be an… honest citizen the rest of my life.'

'Don't,' I heaved, 'make promises… you know you won't… keep.'

We burst into a glade. There was an outcrop of tall rocks at one end. The rest was a flat amphitheatre, almost perfectly oval. As soon as we got there I realised this must be where the wolves wanted us to be. They had herded us to this spot like sheep. I could tell because the instant we reached the clearing, the howling stopped. Abortion and I likewise stopped. We had to. Abortion was utterly drained. He couldn't go on. And me, I was long past going on. We both slumped to our knees in the snow, him a trembling, winded mass, me groaning helplessly.

The silence was expectant. Terrible.

I noted that the snowfall was slowing, thinning. The air was clearing. And I waited. We both waited. It was all we could do.

Then: eyes.

In the dark column-like spaces between the trees, pairs of eyes blinked alight. Peering at us. Dozens of them. Yellow in the snowlight. All around.

And now I could make out puffs of exhalation beneath each pair of eyes.

And now the silhouettes of the wolves themselves. Ears pricked. Heads high. Stock-still.

They were waiting, too.

For what?

A shimmer of movement atop the rocks, and into sight loped a wolf, larger than any of the others, padding proudly to the summit of the outcrop and taking up position there. A grizzled alpha male, leader of the pack. Imperious on his vantage point, like a Roman emperor at the Coliseum, presiding over the Games. His the decision who lived, who died, and how, and when.

I hadn't the wherewithal to do anything but peer bleakly up at him and hope for mercy. As if that was even a remote possibility.

The snow dwindled away to a few meagre flecks and wisps, and then all at once the clouds above parted and a ferociously bright full moon shone down. Its glow drenched the glade like brilliant water, and everything came into detailed, pristine relief. I could see the wolves, the dark and light shades of their pelts, their skinny legs and muscular flanks. I could see the rugged ribbed bark of the pine trunks. I could see the diamond-field sparkle on the surface of the fallen snow. I could see it all with a clarity I'd never known before. It was as though up until this moment I'd never really looked at anything, glancing at the world without taking any of it in properly. Now a veil had been lifted. Everything had meaning and purpose, right down to the tiniest item. The individual hairs on the wolves, each needle on the trees' snow-bowed branches, the speckling of white on the alpha male's muzzle — nothing was there without a reason. Everything belonged. Even me and Abortion.

I realised then that I was about to die. Why else this flooding of my brain, this overwhelming tide of sensory input, if it wasn't my final moment? A revelation at the very fag end of life. A brief, parting gift of insight to make up for three and a half decades of muddle and incomprehension.

The alpha male lifted his head. He opened his maw. He let rip with an almighty howl, a great cascading, crescendoing ululation.

To me, looking up from below at an acute angle, his jaws framed the moon and were gaping wide enough to swallow it, as though it was some sort of celestial dog biscuit. The optical illusion was perfect. All it would take was for those two sets of wickedly serrated teeth to snap shut and the moon would be gulped and gone and nights would be empty and black forever after.

The howl was an instruction. An invitation.

Thumb down from the emperor.

The wolves around us padded out from the trees, into the glade.

Time to die.

Four

Not that I was prepared to go out meekly. Neither was Abortion.

We tottered upright together. We were weaponless. We were shagged out. But we had our fists, our feet. Our teeth too, if need be. The army had spent time and money teaching us hand-to-hand combat. Not much use against wolves, perhaps, but better than nothing.

Instinctively we positioned ourselves back to back, to cover each other. The wolves closed in, forming a tight ring around us. A couple were wagging their tails, others had their tongues lolling out, and I thought to myself, Tossers. This is all a bit of fun to you, isn't it? You big bunch of bullies.

Righteous indignation gave me focus. And fire.

'All right, Abortion,' I said over my shoulder, 'you take the dozen on the left, I'll handle the dozen on the right.'

'My left or your left?'

'Does it matter?'

'Fair point. What about the big bastard on the rock?'

'Prize. For whoever finishes off their lot first.'

'Gotcha.'

'One thing, though. I can't quite figure it out. Is this situation something the universe wants for us or not?'

'The universe,' Abortion admitted, 'is sometimes a bit of an arsehole.'

'That's what I thought. Consider me enlightened, O Master.'

'Better late than never.'

One wolf came at me. It was a feint. A quick nip at the air in front of my knee, then the wolf backed off.

Another darted in from the side, and I turned and bellowed — 'Yaahhh!' — which seemed to intimidate the thing. It retreated, curling its rump round.

I should have known that I was just being set up. A third wolf darted in from behind and bit my leg. Fortunately its teeth latched onto my jeans, not the leg itself. The wolf bent its back and tugged, growling, and I swung round and gave it a thump on the snout. It yelped and let go.

I heard Abortion shouting, 'Go on, you fuckers, gerron out of it!' He was aiming kicks left, right and centre at the wolves. None of his shots actually connected but they were enough to see off his attackers and hold them at bay. For now.

But the wolves were getting bolder by the second.

Two sprang at me at once, and more by luck than anything I managed to grab one of them by the forelegs, mid-leap, and swing it like an Olympic hammer against the other. Both rolled in the snow in a heap, then disentangled themselves and started snarling and barking at each other.

Before I could regain equilibrium another wolf leapt, crashing into me. Next thing I knew, I was on my back and staring up into the beast's face. Gust of foul breath. Glint of triumph in yellow eyes. Then the wolf lowered its head, teeth bared, lunging for the throat.

How I got my arm in the way, I wasn't sure, but I did. Instead of soft, tender neck the wolf buried its fangs in bony, sinewy wrist. The pain was excruciating, but all I could think was: It's only my wrist. As long as that's getting bitten, not my throat, I'll live. This was the kind of calculation I was reduced to making. The wolf could gnaw my hand off, but that was a survivable wound. If it kept me alive a little longer, okay by me. Any loss was acceptable, even part of a limb. That was how much I didn't want to die.

The wolf's jaws bore down. Pressure mounted. I felt something splinter and crack in my wrist. Worse, heard